


Monster, My Monster, Sing Me to Sleep

by Bennyhatter



Series: My Monster [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha Character, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Animalistic, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Codependency, Fear, Feral Behavior, Gen, Grooming, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Omega Character, Original Character(s), Pack Dynamics, Possessive Behavior, The Author Regrets Everything, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 11:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: Before the world went to hell in a burning handbasket, people were already teetering on the brink, but there was still a sense of order and justice. Now, those laws have crumbled to dust. Darwinism is the rightful ruler, killing off those too weak to make it with a cruel efficiency that is almost kind, in retrospect. Those without the stomach to survive primal law aren't going to make it far anyway. Better to leave their bones to bleach than to let them suffer in a world that would only kill their soft hearts in the most barbaric of ways.





	Monster, My Monster, Sing Me to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, this is a thing I have done. It's been a while since I've posted. Not gonna lie, I should probably have come back with something that wasn't... This. But here we are.
> 
> Mind the tags guys, seriously. This is not a piece filled with buttercups and puppies.
> 
> Posting this from my phone, because there's no internet in my house right now. Whoops.

“Well, shit. Aren't you a pretty find?”

 

Elijah tenses, turning around with the can of peas he's been reading clutched in his white-knuckled grasp. He hadn't heard them approaching -- can't believe they were able to get so close in the first place. The three of them block the end of the aisle, eyes shrewd and cracked lips pulled back to bare their teeth in a matching parody of smiles.

 

“Hello,” Elijah says, tucking his find into his drawstring bag and reaching for another one. He's careful not to turn his back on them, grabbing cans at random and figuring he'll sort through them later. “I'll be out of your way in a minute; don't worry, there's more than enough for everyone.”

 

Smiling, he tries his best to look small and unassuming; well aware of the knife at his side if it comes to that, but knowing his odds if it does. Elijah has always been small for his age, pale-skinned with large whiskey-brown eyes and delicate features. These men are taller, broader, and look far meaner than he could ever hope to. They're all dirty -- there's not many opportunities to shower during the apocalypse, not unless you can find a place and hold it against raiders and thieves.

 

One of the men swaggers closer, there's really no other way to describe it. He's smirking at Elijah, a shotgun resting across his shoulders in a lazy display of power. “I'll say,” he agrees, his eyes flicking up and down Elijah's slight frame with a hunger that he's uncomfortably familiar with.

 

Before the world went to hell in a burning handbasket, people were already teetering on the brink, but there was still a sense of order and justice. Now, those laws have crumbled to dust. Darwinism is the rightful ruler, killing off those too weak to make it with a cruel efficiency that is almost kind, in retrospect. Those without the stomach to survive primal law aren't going to make it far anyway. Better to leave their bones to bleach than to let them suffer in a world that would only kill their soft hearts in the most barbaric of ways.

 

Elijah is lucky to have survived for as long as he has, but he's always been smart. He knows how to hide, how to slip through the cracks and the dangerous shadows of this new world. He scavenges, never stopping for long and rarely leaving a trace of his presence aside from empty shelf spots and scuffed footprints.

 

 _It helps_ , he thinks, swallowing quietly when he hears the barest rasp of sound from the next aisle over, _that I've found my own insurance policy on survival._

 

It brings a sweeping rush of relief when he hears the sound again. He'd thought, since they were able to get so close…

 

“That's all I need,” Elijah says after a moment of strained, crackling silence. His voice isn't quite steady, a slight hitch in his words that he knows they hone in on like a pack of starving coyotes who've smelled fresh blood. “The rest is all yours, gentlemen.” He offers a smile, creeping up along the aisle and trying to keep as much distance between them as he can. They spread out without a word, further blocking his escape; prowling closer with excited little murmurs as they cage Elijah in.

 

“Hey now, no rush,” the leader says, letting out a chuckle that chills his blood. _Please,_ Elijah begs silently, gripping his bag hard enough that his fingers ache. _Please, please_. “Such a sweet little looker; it's a wonder no one's snatched you up already.” Another scuff, closer now; he almost imagines he can hear a quiet growl, but none of the men show any sign of having heard it as well. “We'll be happy to bring you along home with us, sweetheart. It's pretty dangerous out here when you're all alone. Pretty little thing like you? Shit, you're lucky no one's taken a bite yet.” He's got a gleam in his eyes that says he'd love nothing more than to do just that. Elijah stops breathing, a new kind of terror freezing him in place.

 

 _Please_ , he thinks again, desperate.

 

“Would you?” Elijah asks quietly, looking up at the man looming over him. All three of them let out raspy barks of laughter.

 

“I'm sure we could come to some kind of agreement,” their leader croons, reaching up to stroke the back of a knuckle down Elijah's grimy cheek. The touch makes him recoil in fear and disgust, and this time he definitely hears the growl. They hear it too, tensing and looking around to try and pinpoint where it's coming from.

 

“Oi, Roger, go find that damn mutt and shut it up,” the one closest to him snaps. Roger grunts an affirmative, pulling his knife with a savage grin and turning away. The growl comes again, much louder and closer, and Elijah exhales shakily. His relief doesn't go unnoticed, earning a frown from the pack's ringleader. The man squints down at him, opening his mouth, but whatever question he's about to ask is drowned out by Roger's bloodcurdling scream.

 

There's no mistaking the dark red that splatters across the ground at the entrance of the aisle, wet and fresh and ripening the air with a coppery, metallic scent. Roger screams again, but his terror dies in a wet gurgle and the sound of tearing flesh; the rabid snarl of a beast sending the dead man's friends scrambling to engage their weapons.

 

“What the fuck was that?” the leader shouts at Elijah, his eyes wide and wild. He looks exactly like a predator that's just realized how low on the food chain he actually is, and Elijah says nothing. He hates this part, but he recognizes the necessity of it; learned a long time ago that closing his eyes only makes it worse.

 

“Tommy, shoot that fuckin’ thing!”

 

“I'm tryin’!” Tommy's gun swings wildly as he searches for his target, but Elijah knows he won't find one. He's seen this play out too many times, in hundreds of violent, bloody ways. No amount of begging, pleading, or bargaining will stop what's about to happen. Pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, he swallows down a mouthful of sour saliva and whimpers quietly.

 

Tommy fires, the crack of the gun deafening. The bullet misses its target, and it's over. A body slams into his, barely a blur of muscles and gleaming teeth. The man screams as he's taken down, struggling to fire again, to fight his way free. A broad hand slams his head into the ground with a sickening crack, leaving him stunned and gasping. Elijah watches with burning eyes as his throat is ripped out, blood spraying up the shelves, up the wall; drenching the creature pinning his victim until it drips from matted, tangled hair. Burning eyes roll toward the only one of the pack still standing, fever-bright and rabid. He bites down harder and wrenches his head to the side, ripping a chunk of flesh and muscle free. There's more blood, so much more that it shouldn't be possible.

 

Elijah whimpers again.

 

“What the fuck,” the pack leader whispers, fingers loose from shock as he watches the creature stand and stalk over the corpse of his friend. Elijah finally turns his head away; he knows what's coming next.

 

“What the fu-!”

 

He still flinches when he hears the man's gurgling scream cut off -- the crack of breaking cartilage, the tear of flesh. Warm wetness splashes across the side of his face and Elijah sobs raggedy, drowning in the terror and the relief simultaneously. He'll never get used to this part, to two such wildly different feelings churning in his stomach until he can't tell if he wants to scream or cry.

 

When he speaks, his voice is a raspy, strained mess. “Kour.”

 

The sound of chewing pauses, but he can't bring himself to look. Not yet. The creature growls, low and dangerous, but his violence is tempered for the moment.

 

“Kour, please,” Elijah whispers. He doesn't flinch when bloody fingers touch his face. Doesn't react when Kour licks the red from his cheek, right over the spot that man had touched. He knows it's as much possessive as it is curious, a beast checking on its master to be sure he's unharmed. Trembling fingers come up, petting over Kour's matted hair, and the creature rumbles; nips at his forearm but doesn't bite and tear the way they both know he so easily could.

 

“Thank you,” Elijah says, closing his eyes. “Can… Is it safe? Can we go?”

 

Kour bites at his overshirt and tugs, growling again. Elijah nods, slinging his bag over his shoulder and letting himself be led. He doesn't look at Tommy, or Roger, or the man they followed. He doesn't look at the other bodies they pass by the front doors, but he can't help but count them -- five more. Eight in total. All of them with their throats mangled; a few with their chests torn open, their ribs cracked and reaching toward the sky.

 

Elijah thinks maybe they fought back the most.

 

Out in the sunlight, it's easier to see just how much of a mess Kour is. He's covered in blood, red streaks drying all the way down his bare chest. There's a handprint smeared across his hip, and his jeans are ruined. Elijah looks at him quietly, taking it all in while Kour watches him in return. His eyes aren't quite right -- they haven't been since Elijah first found him. The dark brown irises are cracked through with red that bleeds out into the whites, something unnatural and inhuman that screams _monster_. He licks his lips and Elijah sees his sharp canines; watches his clawed fingers twitch as his agitation grows.

 

Like any predator, Kour doesn't tolerate being stared down. It's a challenge and a promise; an assertion of dominance and a threat. Even Elijah has to be careful, so he's quick to drop his gaze and tilt his head, offering his throat in a clear show of submission.

 

He's learned the best ways to calm Kour down since they met, even though such a vulnerable gift still makes his pulse thump with fear. Kour rumbles, pleased, and licks at his offered jugular; nips gently and rumbles louder when Elijah gasps and trembles.

 

“We need to get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, petting Kour's head carefully again. It's almost impossible to see his white hair beneath the layers of blood and dirt. He's worried about snagging his fingers in the mats; worried about Kour snarling and ripping out his throat if he does. It hasn't happened yet, but Elijah isn't stupid enough to believe that he's entirely safe, just because Kour has become attached to him in some sense. Loyalties can change as swiftly as the wind.

 

Nothing in this new world is sacred or permanent.

 

Elijah doesn't know what happened to Kour to make him the way he is -- doesn't know what was done to him in those labs or how he managed to survive before Elijah found him. All he knows is that the creature has decided to follow him, to stay close and keep him safe.

 

In a world where Darwinism is the new law, a creature like Kour is at the top of the food chain. Elijah is much farther down -- he wouldn't survive long on his own, even with his small set of skills. He's not naïve enough to think he would have made it this far without the creature growling against his shoulder.

 

Kour is more than likely going to kill him one day. That's just the way things are. Until then, Elijah will keep moving from place to place, shadowed by a monster that makes even demons tremble. He'll feed Kour, and take care of him, and watch as the creature he chose to save slaughters anyone that tries to take Elijah away from him.

 

“Come on, Kour,” he says quietly, stroking between the creature's shoulders and ignoring the sticky wetness beneath his fingers. “Let's get you cleaned up and settle down somewhere for the night, okay? I got you more green beans.”

 

Kour rumbles, licking at his shirt, and follows Elijah when he turns to lead the way.


End file.
